Monday, August 31, 2009

Couple in the next room, is bound to win a prize

Today is my thirteenth wedding anniversary! Thirteen years of wedded bliss, interspersed with tragedy, bickering, chores, house payments, jobs, graduate school, good times, not so good times, dry patches, grey hairs, and two cats and a dog. We're all still standing, I think we might just make it another year.

To celebrate, we Hotwired a hotel room in SF for the night (and Leila asked, "Why would you go to a hotel room for just one night? That doesn't make any sense" She's to young to know about hotel sex) and rode a cable car to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, a little french bistro, and then risked our lives taking a cab back to the hotel.

We sat around like geeks, looking at facebook updates, and watching an episode of My So Called Life on our computer because we couldn't figure out the dang TV. Then at 1:47 a.m. I was awakened by what I thought were kids jumping around upstairs. My second thought was, "What parent is letting their kids jump around a hotel room at 2 in the morning?" and my third thought was, "Hey, those aren't kids..."

The couple in the next room were having all kinds of fun, for AN HOUR! Ah, those were the days. Rob didn't notice a thing, and, this morning when I told him about it, he pointed out that there were a set of ear plugs right there on the nightstand, courtesy of the Hilton. Now, ear plugs were the last thing I needed. I had my ear jammed up against the wall, trying to figure out exactly, y'know, what was going on, and earplugs would definitely have gotten in the way. They turned the TV on at around 2:30 and I thought they were sprawling in the afterglow, but, no, they were just trying to mask the sound. It might have worked , too, if I hadn't had the side of my face flattened to the wall. If I wasn't going to be able to sleep, I might as well be entertained, right? I think they were going for some kind of record.

In the morning, I told Rob all the gory details, and told him, "I kind of want to wait in the hallway until they come out so I can see what they look like, but what if they're ugly? That would spoil the whole thing!" This is the part where Rob looks at me and shakes his head, wondering what on earth is wrong with me, and why he's married to such a sick freak.

I'm not a sick freak, though, right? Please don't tell me that I am the only one who would intently listen to the strangers in the next room doin' it. If I knew the people, or they were, like, my parents, I would have shoved those ear plugs so far into my ears I would never have gotten them out. But these were strangers, and, in my fantasy life, good looking strangers.

So, now, I'm sipping champagne out of my wedding champagne flutes as I do once a year on this date. Doesn't mean there aren't still dinner dishes to do, and laundry to fold, and a lippy kid to put to bed. Happy Anniversary, Rob!

p.s. I will send you warm fuzzies, absolutely FREE, if you can name the song I've quoted in the title.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Its 98 degrees right now. I'm going to the movies to sit in an air conditioned place for two hours. I'm going to have a coke. Fuck it.

Friday, August 28, 2009


As of today, I have gone eight full days without soda (coke, rootbeer, etc.) and let me tell you something: I don't think I've lost any weight, but I have noticed that I am not having insane cravings like I usually do. Normally, every night is a mystery. I may have all the stuff to make tacos at home, but I feel like I'm going to die if I don't get number 217 from the Vietnamese place, or a pizza, or a big bowl of ice cream. I never know what its going to be, which makes it virtually impossible to plan meals. I also don't like to plan meals or go grocery shopping, and that also makes it virtually impossible to plan meals. But this week, my food cravings have been evened out. I'm no longer staring longingly at butterfinger bars in the grocery aisle, and I haven't taken myself to lunch (also a side effect of my roller coaster cravings) since Monday.

I'm thinking that staying off soda may be the answer to many of my issues; If I don't crave, I wont eat a bunch of garbage, and I'll lose weight. If I don't crave, I wont spend a lot of money on impulsive restaurant purchases, and I'll be able to save up for a sofa. Also I went to the dentist today and had two cavities, so there's another way staying off soda will help me. I'm wondering what I should give up next. I will not give up cocktails, though, no matter what world problems it would solve.

How about a quick Friday Five?

1) How is your tolerance for alcohol? Is this a question of the quality of my drunkenness, or the speediness of my drunkenness? I am a light weight, and a very loving and indiscreet drunk.

2) How's your tolerance for noisy neighbors. Low if its lame adults, high if its kids. I am the noisy neighbor on my street right now, constantly screaming for the dog.

3) How's your tolerance for physical pain? Very, very low. A doctor during my hospital stay was sure I'd passed a gall stone without my knowledge, and I assured her that I start to whimper if I get thirsty. I don't think a gall stone would elude my notice.

4) How's your tolerance for intolerant people: Low, very low. Unless I'm the one having an intolerant moment, then I'm fine with it.

5) How's your tolerance for bad music? Medium. I can hang for a while, depending on how generous I feel at that particular time. There was a woman I used to work with who would commandeer the office stereo first thing in the morning with 5 CDs of all the same type of music, and around CD number 3, I would have to put a stop to whatever it was. She kept telling me to "expand" my musical interest, but after 5 straight hours of Tom Waites, I wanted to "expand" my fist right into her mouth.

Have a good weekend, brothers and sisters!

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Sexual Chocolate

Its butt hot today. I don't really know what that means, but its hot. Its 4:43 p.m, I'm sipping wine at my desk, and here is why I am a rock star today:

I spent a few HOURS this morning doing school stuff, and I am not only up to date, but I am ahead of schedule, and everyone will be blown away by my brilliance. I have a class list, I have a manual and a checklist, I have stuff printed out for my meeting tomorrow, and... I guess that's it. It doesn't sound like much, when I write it out. Okay, so maybe I'm not a rock star, maybe I'm a wanna be rock star. Remember that movie Coming to America, where Eddie Murphy played all those parts and one of the parts was the really bad singer of the band Sexual Chocolate, and he sang The Greatest Love of All in a powder blue tux? 'Member that? That's who I am today.

These bursts of organizational prowess make me look like I have it totally together, but the fact is, it is the pure desperation of not wanting to do other things, like clean out the hall closet and blow dry my hair, that push me in the direction of the school stuff. I dick around on the computer for a while, refreshing my email and my facebook and reading all the gossip sites, and then it comes time to either get up from the computer and clean something, or stay at the computer and fiddle around with spread sheets and stuff. I believe that children are our future...

I also scrubbed my stove and ruined my nail polish. Did I tell you about this? Rob is always bugging me to paint my nails a dark color. I hardly ever paint my nails, and when I do, it is usually a really light color that you can't see. So I tells him, "Honey, you go to the store and pick out the color you want me to wear, and I'll try it." And. He. Did. Not only does he never have any issue calling me from the tampon aisle of the grocery store and reading all the boxes out loud, but apparently he has no trouble perusing the nail polish aisle, either.

I also went to Costco. I've been bugging my dad to take me to Costco for two months or so. I don't have my own card, so I have to mooch off other people, and finally - FINALLY! - he took me up there. He said there was something he wanted to get for Leila, and I was convinced it was a Wii. I started to get all excited, but it turned out he wanted to let her pick out a boring old book. Reading: jeez. She's spending the night at his house this Saturday. My mom is out of town and Rob and I are going out, so he's going to take Leila to see my brother and go to the dirt modified car races, whatever the hell that means.

Don't you hate when you go to Costco with a short list of things, and they don't have half of what's on your list? It sucks. Rob will just have to wear his pitted-out undershirts a little bit longer.

Thank you for all your comments! I feel a little calmer now. Keep commenting, I love it!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

I Got Nothin'

I'm sitting at my desk, eating pineapple (6 days without a soda, pineapple is my current substitute) contemplating my next move. My next move is decidedly not sitting here and writing this, though. I have phone calls to make, dishes to do, a hall closet to clean out and floors to sweep, but I have no desire whatsoever to do any of those things. You know what's so great about summer vacation? I'm still a little bored, like I am during the school year, but I don't get out of bed until, like, nine a.m. and I don't start making a mess until around 10:30. It makes a difference. The day is long when I'm getting up before 7, and making a mess by 7:15. Know what I did this morning, though? I made dinner for tomorrow. How's that for efficiency? I made pasta a week or two ago (a couple of mild Italian sausages, out of the casing, crumbled into a pan and sauteed, one jar of Bertolli olive oil and garlic pasta sauce, about a cup of red wine, simmer) and it was so much better the next day, after having been refrigerated and microwaved. So I made it this morning, put it in containers along with the pasta, and voila, dinner is served. Tomorrow.

Nothing interesting has happened today, no more booger drama, but I did wash the dog. He is frantically ringing the bell at the back door so he can suss out the grossest thing in the yard and roll in it. No dice, dog. You're staying clean if the sound of that damn bell kills us both.

Here's another thing. I know you're reading this; my google analytics tell me that I get between 40 and 60 visitors a day (God only knows what you see in me) but Where are your comments? I need some comments, people! I need to know you're really out there! You don't have to be witty, you can be anonymous, you can just say, "present" like you did in Bio all those years ago. She's back in school, I'm alone in this house all day,and I need to know that I'm talking to SOMEONE.

Hitting a needy patch, I guess. How many calories are in half a pineapple? And, why is it, when you have cut up a whole pineapple, one piece is delicious and another piece isn't? When you have a tasteless melon, the whole thing is a waste of time, but every bite of pineapple is like a little surprise.

Yeah, I got nothin'. Except to say... Everybody's doin' it, doin' it, doin' it, pickin' it and chewin' it, chewin' it, chewin' it...

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The Great Shame

Second day of second grade. Everything was fine, except...

Leila is a nose picker, and... okay, I'll just say it, a booger eater. She doesn't always eat what she hauls out of there, but it happens. She's a little kid, okay? I've tried everything to get her to stop, including encouraging her to pick her nose (not eat it, I am not encouraging her to do that) in private. I told her that when she uses the rest room at school, and she's alone in the stall, pick your little heart out, sister. I know the hygiene police will be all up in my grill about viruses and bacteria getting jammed into her nose, but c'mon people! I'm doing my best! Her hands are always in her face somehow. If her fingers aren't up her nose, they're picking her lip, or she's biting her nails. Its so irritating. I can see it out of the corner of my eye when we're reading bedtime stories, and "Get your fingers away from your face" has become an integrated part of the text of pretty much every book we read. I tried painting her nails this summer to combat the biting, but she still bit her cuticles and when the polish chipped off, her fingers were right back in her mouth. Its a losing battle for a parent, but not necessarily for other second graders...

Today a little girl at her table caught her in the act, and said, "Ewwww! You're picking your nose!" That's the story I got, anyway. When asked if she was caught nibbling on the evidence, Leila was emphatic that it was just the picking. It took her a while to break down and tell me the story in the first place. She was mortified, and decided she didn't like that girl and couldn't be friends with her. In her world, this is a perfectly good reason to freeze someone out of the incessant games of Dog out on the playground. I was a good mom; I told her that I completely understood that she was embarrassed, and that maybe the girl's tone wasn't exactly respectful (that's what she said: that the girl had not been respectful to her. As if the child is supposed to say something like, "I can respect that you are a nose miner, but, ahem, would you mind?") but that she should probably give the girl a second chance. I think she will. But maybe I should send that kid a thank you note.

Leila also gave me a really great physical description of embarrassment: she said this about the girl, but we all know what she really meant, "she makes my brain itchy. She gives me mosquito bites all over my brain." Her brain got a lot of action today. On the way home, she told me that her eyes hurt and her head hurt, and it was because she's working so hard at school that her brain gets squeezed and it hurts. I know exactly how she feels. I use chardonnay and naps to combat that feeling.

Monday, August 24, 2009

What is Wrong with Me?

Today was the first day of school. Sniff. Sniff sniff. I will have to get over summer vacation being over. Unless I want to home school, I don't have a choice, and if I home schooled, Leila would read at a third grade level in eleventh grade and would need vitamin D supplements.

So, remember how I said I wasn't going to raise my hand for every dill-darned thing this year? (here's an example) Maybe I forgot to mention it, but my plan was to take a year off from any heavy duty volunteering. I gave up Walk and Roll to school, thank God, but now look what's happened! During the summer, one of the committees I'm on lost its chair person, and I thought, "I'll only do it if no one else volunteers by the time school starts." Well, somebody did volunteer, and I was disappointed! Then today, I was busy buying Leila a new school T shirt, and when I wandered over to the table where you can sign up to be a head room parent, I bumped into another mother from our class, and I tried to talk her out of it. I don't know where that even came from, but then it got even weirder: Some other mom had already signed up to be the head room parent for our class, and I was, again, disappointed. What is wrong with me?

I'd like to tell you, for the sake of an interesting post, that I threw a huge fit and screamed and cried until the other mother withdrew her name, and I am now the head room parent, but it didn't happen like that. Well, not exactly. I kind of dangled around the sign up table when most of the parents had split, and I struck up a conversation with the ladies running the table, who I happen to know, and I told them that I didn't think I cared about being head room parent until I saw that someone else had signed up, and now I was DISAPPOINTED. The nice lady told me that the person written down for my class had told her a long time ago that she'd do it, but she needed to confirm with her anyway, so why didn't she just tell her that, if it was all the same to her, there was another woman in the class (moi) that really wanted to do it.

Long story only a tiny bit shorter, I'm now the head room parent for Leila's class. In my mind, I keep seeing myself throwing elbows and tossing other mothers out of the way, as if there were some fight to the death for the last piece of bacon. God, I'm a controlling shrew. I'm kind of embarrassed. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I becoming one of those moms that everyone hates? I gotta calm down. I've gone 'round the bend.

In other news, and as an addendum to the last post, E said the funniest thing. We were talking about cheating husbands, and she said: "if G was going to trade up, do you really thing he would go for another 42 year-old mom? No! He'd find someone at least 10 years younger than me, with perkier boobs, who will have sex with him more than twice a year." I just love that.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Girl Talk

I went out with PTA ladies last night, sort of a last hurrah before school sets in. We will still have hurrah's, don't you worry; we'll make any excuse to have a glass of wine and talk about... periods.

My husband thinks that when girls get together, all we talk about is periods and nail polish. He doesn't really think this, but without sports or whatever he heard on NPR as topics of conversation, he is left to wonder what else there is. He doesn't realize that periods are the least racy thing we usually talk about, and that conversations about nail polish are very short, and usually take place between two women who aren't to the point in their relationship where they are comfortable talking about periods, or bras, or what's wrong in their sex lives. Once you've gotten there, anything is fair game.

But, last night we actually did talk about periods. We warmed up with other things first, like school, and teachers, and hot lunch and stuff like that, then, for the denouement, we talked about what our mothers, but more importantly our fathers said to us when we got our first periods. J didn't tell her mother that she had gotten her period for a year, and used toilet paper to make her own tampons. D's father gave her a card. E's father congratulated her and offered to take her out to dinner. My mom said "oh, shit. Do you know what to do? Yes? Let me know if you need any help." One woman's daughter asked her to not tell Dad, and she told her, "I will tell him, but you don't have to talk to him about it."

We were all agreeing that your dad acknowledging the onset of menses (ew) is mortifying in every possible way. But when I thought about it later, it occurred to me that, at that age, almost everything your parents do or say is mortifying. The real victim here is the dad. My dad never brought up my period to me, ever, and probably still to this day would rather die than admit that I have one, or that I have sex, or that I have boobs. Once as a teenager he told me my bra strap was showing, and I think we both shortened our lives that day. But it has to be terrible for the dads. Moms have a job to do in this scenario. We have to instruct, and talk about fallopian tubes, and give tours of maxi pads, and, make no mistake, we're dying a little on the inside, too. But dad's have nothing to hide behind. They know that something about this is momentous, and maybe they feel like they should say something, but, honestly, if you're a dad reading this, my advice would be to politely ignore what you have learned about your daughter. Politely ignore "breast buds" which has got to be the worst description of anything, ever, and continue your relationship as though nothing has changed.

Having said that, however, the few people I know who didn't have their moms around for one reason or another, and were informed about periods by their dad or their older brother, seem less traumatized by the experience than the girls who had mothers to embarrass the hell out of everyone. Maybe we're going about this all wrong, and moms should just stay out of it completely. We should let the dads handle it! I can just imagine how Rob would handle this. Actually, he would probably handle it just fine. Its just like me to find another job that I can pawn off on him; kitchen floor, garbage, cat box, period talk.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


OK, dinner has been cooked and eaten, and the two other people who live with me are off to test drive a tennis racquet.

Making dinner was about the most ambitious thing I did today. Actually that's not true, I made some phone calls to strangers and was charming, and that is a lot considering how tired I am after last night.

We went out to a fancy dinner for my friend's birthday, and I didn't drink that much, or eat that much (not at those prices) but I did stay up late and wear a beautiful bitch of a pair of shoes. The balls of my feet are still swollen. I took them off under the table of the fancy restaurant, but it didn't make a difference, I'm still hurtin' today.

So, I took a nap. I tried to get Leila to take a nap with me, but she just laid next to me and picked her nose and stuff like that, and you wouldn't believe how loud that is. Suddenly, started laughing hysterically for no reason, and was flailing all over the bed clutching her stomach. A little hard to nap through that too. She finally left and played by herself, thank God.

She's been playing restaurant. Hers is called Lilax, and she always wears her apron when she plays. She has a lunch menu and a dinner menu. Here's a sampling, see what you can decipher:

Ovecoto Sandwich, $2.61
Onin Sandwich, $8.95
Brocali Broo, $6.54
Apple frider, $7.00
Beach Plum, $9.98
Cockei Crispt, $2.12

and for Beverigiz, we have:
Mint Tea, $2.61
Shampain, $4.99
and Chardonnay, spelled perfectly.

The beverigiz are the same for dinner and breakfast, and that is fine by me. Who doesn't want a lovely chardonnay with their Banana Frider?

I don't have a lot of time today. Actually, I have no time. Man just came home. Talk to you later.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


I'm in a funk today. Funk funk funk. I am house bound with two little children who are locked in Leila's room playing Gabriella and Troy, which I think has something to do with High School Musical, which Leila has never seen. Actually, I just poked my head in there, and L is wearing her wolf costume from Halloween. So, what, she's Troy? All I know is, they're quiet, and they're not doing drugs.

I'm going out to a fancy dinner tonight for my friend's birthday. I don't have anything to wear, so I wearing that dress I go for my brother-in-law's wedding last summer. Its fancy and comfortable, but I'll have to wear high heels. I often lament the fact that I have impossible feet, and can't wear cute shoes. They're long and skinny (the only part of me that is) and they're kind of two different sizes (both huge) and I have the hardest time finding shoes. Feet have some fundamental design flaws. There's all these little bones in them, and not a lot of room for muscles, and they work harder than any other appendage. Today, I scrubbed them with a foot scrubber thing, and slathered them in thick foot lotion and put socks on. Which reminds me, I'd better take the socks off so I don't have sock indentations on my ankles when I put my fancy shoes on. I am not afraid to walk bare foot on the sidewalk, put the shoes back on when we enter the restaurant, and take them back off when I'm seated at the table. They're really pretty shoes.

So, I'm in a funk, and now I'm depressed about my feet.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Happy Mother's Day to Me!

I know I've already posted today, but, brothers and sisters, when something really momentous happens in my life, or when I achieve a heady goal, or when I behave in ways that I don't really understand, I have to share it with you first. You're welcome.

Friends, I can't actually remember the last time I did what I did today. Its been easily more than a year.

I mopped the kitchen floor.

I have talked a lot about the twice-yearly bathroom cleaning, and how I pick up my clothes from the bedroom floor once a week whether I can step over the pile or not, but I have never discussed the kitchen floor.

Like other rooms in my tiny house, my kitchen is also a hallway, and any debris on the bottom of any shoe walking through kisses the kitchen floor. In addition, you have the normal day to day spillage from doing dishes, or dropping spatulas, or toast landing butter side down. I don't want to paint too grim a picture; I do spot clean, and once in a while I drag a dry broom over the floor to move the dust and cat hair around, and its not like I have ants or roaches or flies or mice. (Ok, roaches are a cop out. We don't really have roaches in California. Suck on that, Florida, or other states that have roaches.)

Lately, though, specifically after having our good friends and their three kids over for dinner on Saturday, the floor has looked particularly foul. I had a child-free day today, so after I had dicked around on the computer, watched some reruns, eaten some creamed corn, I decided to either read my book, or mop the floor. God knows why, something strange must have come over me, I decided to mop the floor.

Years ago, Rob mopped the floor on mother's day. Not only did he mop it, but he used one of those Mr. Clean magic erasers on all the scuffs and other things that don't come off with the mop. It was a beautiful thing, and I told him that all I ever wanted for mother's day from that day forward, was for him to clean the kitchen floor. (That way, I knew that the floor would be cleaned at least once a year. I'm always thinkin'!) He actually did it for a year or two after that, but this year he didn't do it. That's how I know that its been over a year since its been cleaned. Isn't it funny that everything in my house only gets cleaned on special occasions? The bathroom on Christmas, the floor on mother's day, my sheets the few times a year after special occasions in the dark...

Let's see if Rob notices when he comes home. He probably wont, and after he's been home two hours I'll finally snark, Haven't you noticed that I cleaned the floor!? And he'll say, lying, I did notice, it looks great! Liar. He's never nearly as impressed with me as I think he should be when I actually clean something. I feel like a deserve a freakin' parade. But not on my clean floor. It has to last 9 month until mother's day.

Happy Monday! Tra la la!

Happy Monday, everyone! School starts one week from today. Ugh. I am starting to pretend I'm really excited about it because my mom told me that Leila is starting to worry when I say I'll miss her when she goes back to school. So, I'm starting to say things like, "I'm really starting to get excited about school, aren't you?" I think she can see clear through my curtain of BS.

Do you think its gross to pick a dogs eye boogers and feed them to him? Maybe a better question is, Do you think its appropriate, considering what else dogs choose to feast on, and where else the boogers might end up? Don't you think that if a dog could pick his own eye boogers he would totally eat them?

I don't really have much to write about today, so I'll do a Friday Five, just for fun:

1) What is so ugly, its kind of cute? Um, your mom?

2) What's the ugliest article of clothing in your wardrobe? Well, that depends: Are we talking about articles in current rotation, or the ugliest thing I ever wore, or something I currently own and don't ever wear? Let's see: The only thing I can come up with is My Arms. I have a lot of cute things that don't look cute because of my arms. I have some Keen sandals that look pretty darn ugly, but I generally don't make it a habit to acquire clothes that I think is ugly. This is a stupid question.

3) What's the ugliest car on the streets today? I don't like the Honda Element (Sorry, Ann) and this Cube thing looks ridiculous, and I've never liked the PT cruiser. The new Mercedes wagons are pretty gnarly, too, but I suppose I wouldn't turn one down if it was offered up.

4) Under what circumstances are you most likely to whip out your ugliest behavior? I plead the fifth on this one. It might be when I'm with YOU.

5) Which of the United States has the ugliest shape? Oh, for crying out loud. Or, for crine-owloud, as my mom would say. I guess I'd have to say the square states. They're just so... square. And florida: I mean, honestly.

Hm. Flat today. I'll try again tomorrow. Sorry for wasting your time, but thanks for making it this far!

Friday, August 14, 2009

What's That Smell?

You may have noticed, or may not care, that the Gilmore Girls series has been over for a few weeks. It was the second time I've gotten a Tivo season pass to it, and the second time I watched all five seasons of it, beginning to end. They're still running the show, from the beginning again, but I'm done for a while. I may have to wait a few years before I watch it again.

So I've been bouncing around other reruns: Sex and the City, MASH, Roseanne, but I've been a little bereft without a show to be obsessed with during the down times. Then the clouds parted, and the dove-like messenger of peace (Rob) found that Hulu has the whole series of My So Called Life.

This show aired in the mid-90s, and centers around Angela Chase (Claire Danes) as a High school sophomore. Angst ensues, and it is absolutely delicious. Not like the teen shit they have on TV now. When I first watched it, I think I was in my mid 20s, and it was in syndication. I was still close enough to high school days to completely identify with Angela. I WAS Angela Chase. Now, though, I find myself identifying with the parents on the show. Rob is watching it with me and I keep poking him in the ribs and saying, "Pay attention! This will be you and Leila in 8 short years."

I've read that when your kids are going through all their high school drama, they don't want to hear about your high school drama. That, no matter how you try to convince them that you, too, fell in love, and were disappointed by the object of that love, many times over, and that you felt less-than, and that you were scared and humiliated every single day, and that you can remember what was playing on the radio when you felt that way, They Don't Care.

This isn't very funny. How about this: Rob's breath was so heinous yesterday that the whole car still smelled like his stink today, and I had to drive with the windows open. Is that better?

If you've never seen My So Called Life, and want to relive a little bit of high school in the privacy of your adulthood, you should watch it. Its fabulous. Its better than Tori and Dean.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I've Just Managed to Depress Myself

Am I the only parent who does not want school to start? I hear other parents counting down the days until their freedom, and I am dreading the beginning of school. Used to be that school started on the Tuesday after labor day, but now it starts two weeks earlier. I don't want to send her off to school again. Moreover, I don't want to get up at 7 and make lunch and breakfast every single dingle morning, walk to school, start going to meetings, blah blah blah.

Summer is my least favorite season, but I just love summer vacation. I love sleeping in. I love letting Leila stay up late, and letting her have sleepovers on weeknights, and lounging around the house for most of the day.

Here's a list of everything good about school starting: cool weather is around the corner and, if we're very lucky, rain will be around the next corner. I will get almost every morning to myself, and I wont be pestered at the grocery store (I actually kind of like being pestered at the grocery store.) We'll stop spending so much money on activities and food and stuff like that (and start spending it on piano lessons. Woof.) The dog will get a walk every day, and get to sniff the butts of other dogs.

Nah, I'm just gonna miss my girl, and she's going to start second grade, and she's just going to keep getting older and older until she leaves for college, and moves to a more affordable town, and then she'll only come home on holidays, that is if she doesn't have Mother Issues and hate me, and then when she comes home she'll only want to hang out with her friends and borrow what I hope will be my new car, but it will probably be the same car I'm driving now, and she'll roll her eyes at me, and just keep leaving and where will I be? I'll probably be sitting at my third or fourth laptop after this one doing the same thing I'm doing right now. God, this is depressing.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

The Grey Granny

Remember when I told you that my hair was falling out? Well, it was, and I lost about, say, 20% of my hair, maybe more. The doctor said it was because of my illness, and the low iron, and she also said it could come back different. Well, my small fear has been realized, and I plucked about fifteen grey hairs today. They were mostly short ones, meaning that they were new hairs replacing the ones that fell out. They seem to be concentrated on my left temple. There aren't enough that anyone looking at me would think to themselves, "Gee, she needs some grecian formula." or anything like that, but we all know how this story ends.

My friend seemed was all excited about it. She was all, "Ooh! I love when they grow in a patch!" but I fail to see what there is to be so excited about. She was appalled that I had plucked them out. I had about three grey hairs that I would pluck out periodically, but this is another thing altogether. I don't think I'm ready for this. Last night, my 25 year-old sister-in-law was shocked to learn that I am turning 39 in the fall. She had no idea I was so old. She didn't say those exact words, but I knew what she was thinking. But, you know, when you're 25, anyone over 30 seems like their one step in the rest home. I may as well have said I was turning 60. I told her the secret to my youthful glow was oily skin and extra weight, not clean living and and healthy diet that you might assume.

I'm going to bed now. I'm going to go sleep on my grey hairs.

Monday, August 10, 2009

I Don't Have Time For You People

I can't really talk right now. Or write right now, as it were. I have now 12 people coming for dinner, and its a thousand degrees in my house, and I've been on my feet all day so my dogs are barkin', I'm on my second mini rootbeer, and I need a break. When L is done watching her show, I get a turn, and I'm going to watch me a Mad Men rerun.

I did make a pitcher of margaritas, though, and it is chillin' in the fridge, callin' my name...

So, I know what I'm cooking, I now what music I'm going to play, I know what cocktail I'm serving, but I don't actually know where people are going to eat. I can seat four at my out door table, 6 at the indoor table. Maybe I should spread blankets on the lawn and we should have a picnic? I don't really have any blankets. Do I have 12 chairs? I guess I really haven't thought this through...

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

The Daily Cow

Usually, I am the cow. I do many things that are attributed to cows, like having lots of stomachs, and standing out in the rain, but today I am not the cow. No, today the title of cow goes to the adolescent girl who was sitting with her mother and sister at the table next to mine at PF Changs tonight. What a cow.

I know it sounds uncharitable, but it isn't a comment on her looks, and it really is more a comment on her mother's parenting. Let me see if I can 'splain: when we got there, the cow was practically laying on the table. Her knees were on the banquette, with her feet up on the top of the back of the banquette, like a V, and she was bent at the waist over the table and she was lounging on top of it like she was on her La Z Boy sectional at home. Her mother did not seem to notice, and her sister was having her own fun dangling around the table. There were kid's books on the floor, in the perfect place for a server to trip on them, and there seemed to be all kinds of other crap on the table, too. Then, their dessert was served, and the cow ate hers like she was eating her cud. She was finally seated on her ass, but her shoulders were hunched, and was chewing with her mouth open like a freakin' cow. I was so glad they were on dessert so they would be leaving soon, but I just wanted to smack that mother.

I don't care how judgmental I sound, or how many enemies I'll make, but if you are a parent and your child acts like this in a restaurant, or anywhere, for that matter, YOU'RE NOT DOING YOUR JOB!

What a cow.

$2K down, $3K to go

The new water heater is in, and the hot water is flowing. But it doesn't flow very well in my house, so on Friday we're getting new pipes and a new main line to the street. I will never get a new sofa, and I will have to stare at my mother-in-law's old sofa and my big green recliner until I die. Maybe I'll just crawl under my house and stare and the shiny copper pipes. Do you think that will help me feel better?

My neighbors across the street are out of town, and when they heard our water heater was broken, they offered up their shower until ours was fixed. They have a new house with all new plumbing and I'm here to tell you: I may have hot water now, but I am showering at their house until my new pipes are installed. It was so awesome. The water pressure actually rinsed my hair in seconds! No wonder people love to shower if that's what it feels like!

Leila is off with my parents on an overnight trip and I gave her my old camera to document her experience. Digital camera in the hands of a seven year-old: genius or folly? I figure the worst thing that will happen is that she breaks it, but she's a very careful girl so that is unlikely. Lets see if she can frame a shot and focus. I'll post the good ones.

So, I have two days without my girl and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm going to take in a movie this afternoon, and maybe get a pedicure. However, with all my money going into the pipes, I may have to economize. I bet Rob would just love to paint my toenails!!

Monday, August 3, 2009

H2 Oh No!

We can live without hot water, right? I mean, running hot water is a pretty modern invention in the scheme of things, and people have lived without it before so we could conceivably do it again, right? Warm showers are really for namby pamby spoiled brats, right? Oh, yeah. I am a namby pamby spoiled brat...

I need a new water heater. Ours is only 8 years old, but its the victim of old pipes and owners (meaning me and Rob) who had no idea that it needed regular maintenance, and now its dead. We killed it with our neglect. Coincidentally, we are getting our old pipes replaced on Friday, like semi responsible home owners, and now we need a new water heater to go with them.

You know what the real pisser is? Besides the fact that all this plumbing is throwing a wrench into my plans for a new sofa? I don't even like to shower. Personal hygiene is so boring. I find the whole showering, leg shaving, armpit scrubbing, hair conditioning BS a boring, boring chore. Then you add the lotion and the blow drying, and its all I can do to stay awake. I would be so happy if I could get away with showering once a week or less, but unless I'm willing to move deep into the woods and eschew all laws, I don't think I could get away with that. I actually caught one of the mothers in Leila's class staring in what appeared to be disbelief at the tired pedicure on my toe nails. The nail polish was already gone on half of the nails, and what was left on the rest was a sliver of pink leftover from the pedicure I'd had four months before. Then, when I got them re done, she commented like she was patting me on the head. If it weren't for the back issues of People magazine piled next to the pedicure chair, I'd never go. Bo-ring. Some people find facials and stuff like that relaxing. I do not. Give me Sex and the City reruns any day.

I'm trying to look on the bright side of spending more than my sofa savings on new pipes and a water heater: I will have enough water pressure to rinse my hair, so my showers will be shorter. I will no longer have episodes of freezing water during a shower. The sprayer on my kitchen faucet will have enough power to do a good rinse job on dishes. I wont have to worry about plumbing for many many years. Really? That's it?